I Wanna Learn A Love Song
by Petroica traversi
Summary: Daryl had no idea how much his life would change when he agreed to give guitar lessons to a lonely housewife. Based on the Harry Chapin song of the same name.


It was all Merle's idea, of course. Daryl didn't really consider himself much of a musician – more like someone who fucked around with a guitar when he was bored – but they needed money, and Merle was convinced that Daryl was some kind of virtuoso. He knew he was good enough to give basic lessons at least, and Merle knew a guy who knew a guy whose wife wanted lessons, so Daryl just rolled with it. It wasn't like he ever said no to Merle anyway.

The house wasn't in the best neighborhood, although it was much nicer than his own, but he could tell whoever lived there spent a lot of time on the yard, which was by far the nicest one on the street. The flower beds were immaculate, and the lawn was neatly mowed. He wondered if the fastidiousness was out of love of gardening, or an attempt to outdo the neighbors. It was impressive, either way.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting from the woman he was supposed to see – maybe an old grandma bored with knitting, or someone's eye candy who needed to be kept occupied while her sugar daddy was out of town, perhaps, but the woman who opened the door surprised him nonetheless.

The combination of her fiery red hair and bright blue eyes was stunning, but she looked like a woman who didn't know how attractive she truly was. Her clothes were baggy and plain, and she clearly made no effort to make herself more beautiful with fancy hair or makeup. She smiled softly at him as he stared awkwardly at her.

"You must be Daryl?" she said, extending her hand.

"Uh, yeah. Carol right?"

He shook her hand reluctantly, and watched as she took him in. Her smile never faltered, which was something he wasn't used to. Usually women took one look at him and decided he was something worth avoiding.

"Yeah, come in, come in," she said, opening the door wider to let him pass.

The inside of the house didn't quite match the outside; it was a little run down and he wasn't sure what it was about it, but it seemed... sad. The TV in the living room looked old, the sofa looked threadbare, and there were chips in the paint around the windows. What surprised him the most about it was the lack of decoration. She had immediately struck him as the kind of person who'd have knick-knacks and photos all around, but the only representation of the people who lived there was a photo of Carol in a wedding dress, and a man he assumed was her husband. The glass on the frame was cracked.

He peeked into the dining room as they passed it, but carefully avoided making eye contact with any of the noisy, rowdy men gathered in there. The air reeked of cheap liquor and cigarette smoke.

"My husband and his friends," she explained, leading him down to the basement, "They play poker on Friday nights, so we'll go to the den so we can stay out of their way."

She smiled expectantly as they sat down on the dilapidated sofa. There was a guitar case in the floor next to where she sat, and he glanced at it nervously.

"I ain't never given lessons before," he said.

"That's ok. Maybe you can just show me the basics to get started? I just got this thing, so I don't even know where to begin."

He nodded at that, and unpacked his guitar.

She was a fast learner, quickly picking up the chords he taught her with ease, and he was surprised to find that he didn't mind sitting next to her, quietly instructing her and reaching out to adjust her fingers on the strings. She was sweet and friendly, but didn't feel the need to yammer away like some people did. It was the first time that he could remember not being nervous around a woman.

"My fingers hurt," she said after a while.

"That's normal," he said, "You gotta build up calluses so that won't happen anymore."

"Calluses, hm? That I can do. How about you play for me for a while, though? Is that ok?"

He usually just played when he was alone, so her request caught him off guard. He didn't mind, though. It stuck him how weird the whole thing was as he started up a song. Sitting here alone in a basement with a beautiful woman while her husband played poker upstairs. She leaned back and relaxed as she soaked in the song he was playing, smiling her little smile. They both jumped as someone's chair slammed into the floor above them, and someone yelled her name.

"I think that's enough for tonight," she said quietly.

He couldn't help but notice how she avoided eye contact as she led him to the door.

X

The anticipation their next lesson was killing him. It was stupid, he knew, getting all excited about spending time with someone's wife, but he felt good around her. She didn't judge him the way some people did... or if she did, she kept it to herself. He could deal with that.

She was all smiles when he got to her house the following Saturday.

"I've been practicing when Ed's not at home," she said, leading him downstairs again.

"You don't work?"

"No. I'm a housewife, you know, and that stuff keeps me pretty busy, but I always have a few minutes between laundry and dinner."

Suddenly the immaculate lawn made a lot more sense.

"What happened to your wrist?" he asked, noticing the bruise there.

"Oh, that. I was doing the dishes and I lost my balance," she answered, blushing, "Ed caught me just in time."

He nodded, though he didn't believe her. Something was off in the way she answered him.

"Here, let me show you what I've done," she said, effectively killing the conversation as she pulled her guitar into her lap. He didn't bring it up again.

The lesson progressed much like the one before, although this time she played for him first. He could tell she'd spent more than a few minutes practicing. She had what he'd taught her the week before down pat, so he showed her a few new things and listened to her practice some more before she requested he play for her again.

"Why do you want to hear me play?" he asked after a few songs.

"Hmm? Oh, it's nice. I don't get a lot of time to just sit and enjoy things. And I like just spending time with you. I'm so used to constantly having to do something for other people, so it's nice to be around someone who doesn't really expect anything from me. I mean, even though I'm paying you," she said with a grin.

He found himself smiling back.

It became a routine after that, her greeting him at the door with a smile, and sneaking in quietly to avoid the rowdy men in the dining room. They'd invited him to play poker with them once or twice, but he always declined. He'd rather spend his time in her company.

It was amazing to him how quickly she'd wormed her way in. Their evenings together weren't just spent on guitar lessons; they'd often spend hours just talking. She seemed like a very reserved, private person, and lord knew he himself wasn't the chattiest person on the planet, but he never got bored with their conversations. She was soft-spoken, yes, but she was also funny and intelligent, and she seemed to understand him in ways that no one ever had before. He was a little afraid of how deep his feelings for her went.

He'd come to think of her as a friend, at the very least, and as he grew more and more fond of her it became harder and harder to ignore the bruises that appeared sporadically on her face and wrists. She always brushed him off when he asked, coming up with some excuse or another, but he wasn't a stupid man. He knew abuse when he saw it, and he could nearly smell her fear whenever Ed called for her to come upstairs. Still, he kept it to himself. Some things were best left unspoken, although biting his tongue was becoming a challenge. Convincing himself that it wasn't his business wasn't working anymore.

He didn't press the issue until one night when he spotted some faded bruises on her neck.

"It ain't right, what he does to you," he said.

She blushed as she always did when he noticed a new injury, and opened her mouth to make another excuse.

"No," he said before she could speak up, "Don't bullshit me. Those are handprints."

"It's fine," she said, looking angry for once, "Don't worry about it."

"Ain't nothin' 'fine' about it."

"My personal life isn't any of your business," she said.

His heart sunk, though he guessed maybe she was right. Maybe their evenings together hadn't meant as much to her as they did to him. He covered up his disappointment the best way he knew how: with anger.

"I thought – no, nevermind. Fuck this," he said, heading back toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, following after him. She looked panicked.

"I'm leavin'. I'm not going to waste my time on a woman stupid enough to stay with an abusive asshole."

The look on her face felt like a punch in the gut, but he was too angry to care.

"Wait, please," she begged, following him out as he stomped angrily toward his truck, "Daryl – Please don't go."

He slammed the door in her face, and tried to forget the tears streaming down her face as he drove away.


End file.
